


borrow cupid's wings and soar

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Series: fire & powder [12]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cult of Kate, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Feral Aiden (The Witcher), Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Gift Giving, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ruthlessly Cherry-Picked Canon, Sappy, Semi-Public Sex, Soft Aiden (The Witcher), Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Teasing, Threesome, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: Each year about midsummer, Jaskier heads to Beauclair for their annual Lammas festival. It’s one of his favorite parts of the year; good food, better wine, dancing – and best of all, the music competition that boasts bards from all over the Continent.Jaskier, Lambert, and Aiden all converge in Beauclair and have a grand time.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert/Aiden
Series: fire & powder [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698274
Comments: 98
Kudos: 787
Collections: Ashes' Library, Polyamorous Relationships For the Win





	borrow cupid's wings and soar

**Author's Note:**

> *linda belcher voice* alright alright alriiiiight
> 
> porn!!! these three just had to fuck, obviously, who do you take me for (nevermind that kate had to make me think about it because I Am Very Dumb) and,,, this...........this got really long and rather fucking filthy and it's absolutely kate's fault. again.
> 
> frankly, at this point, assume any of my shenanigans are kate's fault.

Each year about midsummer, Jaskier heads to Beauclair for their annual Lammas festival. It’s one of his favorite parts of the year; good food, better wine, dancing – and best of all, the music competition that boasts bards from all over the Continent.

So far, he’s won twice; he plans to be the first to win more than that, and hopefully, to win twice or more in a _row_ if he can manage it.

It’s late, two days before the festival when he arrives. Luckily, there’s still room at the usual inn that hosts the competitors, and he quickly settles in to relax and practice a little before the contest.

* * *

Lambert catches word of his favorite bard – and the festival he’s travelling to – at a tavern in Belhaven. A few extra coins flipped into the pocket of the barkeep gets him the information of a caravan of merchants that might let him travel with them; at a pace, they should arrive the day of the festival to sell their wares, bringing Lambert in time to see his bard perform at the music competition that’s drawn him there.

The merchants are wary but agreeable, upon his promise that he’ll protect them from any beasties or bandits they might encounter on the roads. It’s probably the easiest job he’s had in a long while – not a lot of monsters in the middle of Toussaint, really, and bandits are equally scarce. A few drowners as they follow the river, but that’s it. Lambert could kill drowners in his _sleep_.

“What’s takin’ you to the festival, Witcher?” one of the children of the merchant’s asks, when they’re about a half-day out from the city.

Lambert smiles. “A friend will be there,” he answers.

The girl gasps. “I didn’t know Witchers had friends,” she murmurs in awe.

That makes Lambert snort. “We do,” he says. “Don’t believe everything you hear, hm?”

She nods rapidly and darts off to the front of the caravan, probably to impart her new knowledge to her friends. Lambert rolls his eyes and scans over the horizon, partially boredom, partially keeping watch. Not likely to see any threats, but it’s better to be hypervigilant than slack off and end up dead, after all.

The closer they get to the city, the more Lambert finds he can’t wipe the small smile off of his face. He hasn’t seen Jaskier since winter, and he thinks it will be a sight and a half to see the bard truly in his element.

* * *

Aiden hears word of a large competition for bards in Beauclair while he’s waiting for his payment in Sarda. The two bards he overhears speaking about it are excited and nervous all the same; they speak of what it might be like to win, and – what really catches his attention – mention that they hope to meet a famous idol there. _Dandelion_ , they say.

Careful to conceal his face – common folk don’t like it when Witchers smile, they find it unsettling, probably the teeth – Aiden mentally readjusts his plans. He was going to move on to Forgeham after this contract; now, he thinks, he’ll go to Beauclair.

After all, he never got his chance to thank Jaskier for saving his life that day in Loredo. And it might be nice to watch the man perform; added together with the plentiful food and drink, and Aiden is sure he’ll enjoy Lammas no matter what.

He doesn’t even realize just how right he is.

* * *

Jaskier wakes bright and early the day of the competition and heads out to enjoy the festivities before he’s called to perform. There’s a bakery in the center of Beauclair that he goes to each year, and this one is no different; the baker’s daughter is the one running the front this year. She blushes when she sees Jaskier and he winks.

Breakfast secured, he goes about wandering the merchant stalls. There’s always all kinds of things to be found at festivals like these. Merchants from all over the continent will converge on them, and one can find the most _perfect_ gifts. And in fact, that’s what Jaskier is looking for. He has quite a bit of coin – and will have more, if he wins the competition tonight – and he thinks he’ll splurge on some gifts for his Wolves. Nothing too extravagant, of course; Jaskier has to carry it all for several months, after all, and also, his Witchers would refuse anything too excessive.

So he’s thinking about them, as he walks the market stalls. _Geralt likes gifts with purpose and use and so does Vesemir, Eskel likes trinkets and sentiment, Lambert likes weapons and…well,_ Jaskier _, so he’s easy enough_ …. Those thoughts, of course, are why when he looks up and sees a familiar figure, he thinks for a moment he’s just transposing his thoughts onto reality. Think of someone enough, and you’re sure to see their features everywhere. (He knows – he does it often enough with Geralt.) But then the figure turns, and Jaskier feels the way his face breaks into an unstoppable grin.

“Lambert!” he calls, breaking into a jog. The Witcher turns at the sound of his name, but can’t seem to pinpoint the direction it’s coming from in the din of the festival. Jaskier speeds up a little and shouts again.

This time, Lambert turns the right way and catches sight of him. A grin to match Jaskier’s spreads across his face.

Jaskier stops just short of crashing straight into Lambert’s chest. The Witcher reaches out to grasp his shoulder and steady him when the sudden halt makes him stumble just a little.

“What are you doing here?” Jaskier asks. Lambert’s hand stays on his shoulder, and he’s in absolutely no hurry to shake it off.

Lambert grins. “Heard there was a pretty famous bard in town. Say, have you seen anyone famous? So far all I’ve seen if merchants and you.”

Jaskier snorts and whacks Lambert’s chest. “You came to see me perform.”

Lambert’s grin widens a little at the same time the look in his eyes softens; nothing anyone outside their little bubble would notice, but Jaskier isn’t worried about them. _He_ notices it, and that’s all that matters. “I’m certainly not passing up the opportunity,” the Witcher murmurs, and if they weren’t in the middle of a market during a festival, Jaskier would absolutely kiss him.

Alas, now isn’t exactly the time. Later, though – definitely later.

“I was just thinking about you, actually,” he says.

Lambert quirks a brow and finally drops his hand from Jaskier’s shoulder. He misses its weight immediately, but doesn’t mention it.

“I wanted to get gifts for all of you,” Jaskier tips his head toward he market stalls he came from. “Want to help me shop?”

Lambert rolls his eyes and huffs theatrically, but even in his dramatics, he can’t seem to wipe the smile from his face. Jaskier still wants to kiss him so badly, but instead settles for grabbing his wrist and dragging him off toward the stalls.

* * *

Lambert helps Jaskier find gifts for all of the Wolves bar himself; Jaskier shoos him off to grab them lunch while he hunts for the right thing. The Witcher pouts about it, but goes easily enough when Jaskier bats his lashes at him.

He’s in luck; he finds the perfect thing just one stall over from the one he sent Lambert away from. The merchant is a dealer in just about anything and everything; odds and ends, junk, antiques. His stall is actually two and a half sort of cobbled together as one, and his tables are piled high with all manner of things, the whole thing a mess of color and glinting metals.

Amongst a small pile of miscellaneous jewelry, Jaskier finds a small knife. It’s clearly decorative more than useful – it’s barely even sharpened, more likely a letter-opener than anything else – but it’s beautiful all the same. About five or six inches long in total, the dull blade a little more than half it. The wood handle is varnished and polished to a high shine, the coating protecting the delicate painting on the outer edge of both sides; incredibly small, _very_ detailed buttercups. That design flows into the blade in the form of similar little carvings into the top edge of the metal – silver, Jaskier finds, when he lightly raps one of his rings against it.

Mostly useless, sure, but it’s absolutely perfect for Lambert. A knife can be sharpened, after all, and silver is silver. The fact that it’s buttercups is just icing on top; as if Jaskier was meant to find it.

“How much?” he asks the merchant.

The balding man stares at him for a long moment, then spits to the side. “Thirty florens.”

Much too expensive for a glorified letter opener, but frankly, Jaskier isn’t bothered. It’s the perfect gift for Lambert, and he’s not in the mood to haggle today. He pulls the coins out and hands them over; the merchant counts them and spits again, and Jaskier takes his leave when he nods and pockets the money.

He finds Lambert sitting outside the exact tavern Jaskier would have chosen. It makes him smile, and he quickly hides the new knife alongside his dagger. Lambert lights up when he spots him.

“So, did you find me a gift?” he asks when Jaskier’s in earshot.

Jaskier nods, and Lambert quirks a brow. “After lunch,” Jaskier promises. Lambert rolls his eyes but nods.

“Food should be here soon,” he says, gesturing toward the chair next to him for Jaskier to sit.

Jaskier takes the tankard of ale he’s handed and downs half of it in one go; he’s thirstier than he’d realized. When he finally sets the cup back down, he notices Lambert staring rather blatantly at his throat and grins.

“Mind yourself,” he murmurs, and Lambert jerks, expression guilty when his eyes flit up to Jaskier’s face.

He laughs, scooting his chair just a little so he can reach under the table and grasp Lambert’s knee. They’re hidden by the table between them and the bustling street as well as some decorative, potted plants that serve to mark the change from the street to the tavern’s outside area. Lambert jumps a little again at the touch, but relaxes into it quickly, leg listing closer to Jaskier as he slumps a little.

Jaskier doesn’t take his hand off of the Witcher’s leg until their food arrives, and even then, he keeps sneaking touches while they eat. Lambert keeps throwing him looks, somewhere between warning and wanting, and Jaskier just grins back at him.

“So,” Lambert says pointedly once they’ve finished their meal. “What did you find, bard?”

Jaskier chuckles. “Impatient,” he murmurs, but reaches into his doublet to pull the new knife out. He flips it so the handle is facing Lambert and hands it over.

The Witcher is deathly silent for several long moments as he looks at the gift. His fingers trace almost reverently over the engravings on the dull edge of the blade, and when he finally looks up from it to Jaskier’s face, he’s got such a naked look of adoration on his features that Jaskier’s heart skips a beat.

“Bard – _Jaskier,_ ” Lambert murmurs, and the look morphs, goes from reverence to something softer, _hotter._ Jaskier swallows the sudden lump trying to crawl up his throat. He knows that burning look in Lambert’s eyes, and he knows it well.

“Come on,” he murmurs, standing and grasping Lambert’s wrist to pull him up as well. “Come with me.”

Lambert grunts and carefully wedges the knife into a safe place just under his armor, then follows with ease.

Jaskier leads them a little further from the center of the city, more toward where the main festivities will be happening once the sun begins to set. There’s a little area he’d discovered here years ago, relatively hidden from the traffic of the event, but not too far off the beaten path. As soon as they’ve turned the corner into the darkish alley, Jaskier turns and slams Lambert back against the damp brick.

The Witcher, likely anticipating the reasoning for running off to a hidden back alley, goes easily. “Jaskier,” he mumbles again, and Jaskier kisses the sweet sound from his mouth. At first, the kiss is just exploratory, Jaskier getting reacquainted with the way Lambert gives in to him, the taste of his mouth. Then, satisfied with his reintroduction, it turns filthy quickly.

Lambert whimpers when he pulls away, but readily accepts the biting kisses Jaskier trails down his throat instead. “Fuck, Jaskier,” he whines, softly, and Jaskier moans back, slotting their legs together and reveling in the way it makes Lambert shiver and arch.

“Been too long since winter,” Jaskier huffs against Lambert’s collar. The Witcher makes a pitchy, agreeable noise, and grabs at Jaskier’s hair to drag him back into a kiss. This one is fiercer, more teeth and the tang of copper when Lambert’s lip splits, but Jaskier is immediately on board. Rough and fast is exactly what he was aiming for here, anyway.

When he finally has to tear away to breathe, Lambert makes a bereft noise. Jaskier chuckles and swipes his tongue against the swelling cut in the Witcher’s lip before he drops gracefully to his knees. Lambert’s hands find his hair immediately, gripping but not directing, and Jaskier winks up at him just to hear the way Lambert’s breath punches out of his chest on a barely bitten-back groan.

It takes a moment for Jaskier to fumble his way through the ties and layers of Lambert’s breeches and smallclothes, but he gets it down quickly enough. Lambert whines, but his cock isn’t left exposed for long. Jaskier wraps a fist around the base and his tongue around the tip, lashes fluttering as the taste and weight of it on his tongue settles hot in his gut. He starts slow, soft, just to tease; flickering his tongue around the tip, pursing his lips just over the slit and squeezing his fist lightly around the base.

Barely a minute into that, Lambert is begging.

“Jaskier, please, I – oh, fuck, please, please.” He’s gasping his words already, grip in Jaskier’s hair tightening and loosening with each throb of his cock in Jaskier’s fist, and Jaskier can’t help but continue the teasing just a _bit_ longer. Only when Lambert’s grip in his hair goes from holding on to pulling does he finally give in and do what they both want him to do.

He doesn’t go much farther than the head with his first bob down, but Lambert’s voice cracks all the same. After that, he starts actually going for it; bobbing his head up and down, further and further down Lambert’s length until the fat head of it is threatening the clutch of Jaskier’s throat. He stops there to glance up at his Witcher.

Lambert is looking down at him at the same time. His pupils are blown wide, nearly eclipsing the yellow-gold of his iris, and his mouth is dropped open, bottom lip swollen from the split and where he’s clearly been chewing on it as well. He whines when their gazes lock, and Jaskier hollows his cheeks on a suck as he pulls back just to hear the way the whine elongates and goes high at the end. He pops off with a lewd, wet sound, and Lambert growls a little in reply.

“I want to do something,” he murmurs, lips close enough still to Lambert’s cock he knows the Witcher can feel them move. “But you have to hold still.”

Lambert gasps unintelligibly for a moment, but he’s nodding. “Yeah, yes.”

Jaskier hums and presses a chaste kiss to the leaking tip of him. “Promise you’ll behave? Be good for me?”

Lambert grunts as if something’s hit him in the chest, but he doesn’t stop nodding frantically. “Yes, I will – I’ll be good, Jaskier, _please_.”

Jaskier grins and flicks his tongue out at the precome dripping from Lambert’s slit. “Good,” he murmurs. He cups his hands around Lambert’s hips and shoves, until he’s pressed as tightly back to the brick as he can get; Jaskier knows his control and strength here are no more than an illusion, but he’s fine with that.

It’s a very, very nice illusion, after all. And, he knows, Lambert is _intentionally_ letting him have it, which makes it just that much sweeter. Lambert whimpers and pets his hands through Jaskier’s hair, but otherwise stills entirely, looking down at him with wide, pleading eyes. Jaskier winks and sinks his mouth back onto the Witcher’s cock.

He bobs back and forth again for a moment, but slowly starts to push down. When he’s back to where he was, the tip of Lambert’s dick just against the clutch of his throat and threatening his gag reflex, he stops and takes a deep, steadying breath through his nose. When his gaze slides up, Lambert is still looking down at him with that plea in his eyes, but his face has gone slack otherwise. Jaskier winks once more and, with another slow, steady breath, tilts his head and pushes forward. He can hear the nasty, wet noise as Lambert’s cock slides into his throat, and he’s certain Lambert can hear it as well.

Eyes watering fiercely, grip tight enough to bruise a lesser man, Jaskier looks back up at Lambert with his nose pressed to the Witcher’s stomach and throat spasming around his cock. The Witcher looks _wrecked,_ that split in his lip bleeding sluggishly where he’s bitten it wider open, and his eyes are dark and hazy. Jaskier holds until he can’t anymore, vision going a little blurry and spotted, and slowly pulls back to suckle gently at just the head.

Lambert makes a filthy, broken noise, and his hips jerk just a little, rubbing the head of him hard across Jaskier’s palette. Jaskier smirks as best he can around the dick in his mouth and allows it, encourages it, even, using his hands to guide Lambert’s hips in short little thrusts.

It’s while Lambert is nearly losing himself to that sensation that Jaskier notices they have an audience. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, and doesn’t alert Lambert; instead, he just pulls back a little to turn his head, letting Lambert press against the inside of his cheek instead.

His vision is still a little blurry with remaining tears, but he sees a familiar blue broken by leather straps, short brown hair and yellow eyes, and his heart ratchets up a few beats a minute at the same time his cock throbs hard enough to make the ties of his breeches creak threateningly.

He never forgets a face, and standing just around the corner of their little alley, stands Aiden. Jaskier can’t see the state of his pants, but judging from the intense look on his face, he can guess.

He turns his head back and forces Lambert’s hips still once more, pulling off entirely. Lambert doesn’t fight his grip, though he whines a little, eyes fluttering open to look down at Jaskier desperately.

“Fuck my throat, darling,” Jaskier orders softly.

Lambert groans, but stops Jaskier from ducking back in with the grip in his hair. “I want to – _fuck_ , Jaskier, you look so good with my cock in your mouth – but what about your competition?”

Jaskier chuckles and mouths lazily at the head of Lambert’s cock. It twitches rather violently against the touch. “Go slow,” he murmurs. “I won’t let you ruin my voice for real, I promise.”

This is hardly the first time Jaskier has done something like this, after all. Lambert probably doesn’t know that, but all the same – Jaskier knows his own limits. And he wants to put on a show for their lurking friend.

Lambert heaves in a deep breath and nods. “Give me your hand,” he mumbles, and Jaskier does, threading their fingers together. “Let go if you need me to stop?”

The earnest look in his eyes melts Jaskier’s heart. He nods his agreement and squeezes Lambert’s fingers, and the Witcher sighs with clear relief. He lets go of his grip on Jaskier’s hair with an apologetic little pet, and Jaskier dives back in. At first, it’s nothing different that they were doing before; tiny little thrusts that barely rock Lambert across Jaskier’s tongue, but then the Witcher squeezes his hand again and shifts, pressing deeper.

Jaskier’s eyes flutter and roll and he tilts his head to allow it, moving his free hand down from Lambert’s hip to cup his own erection. Lambert groans at the sight, and his thrusts get a little rougher; nothing Jaskier can’t handle. Jaskier encourages him with a low moan, knowing the vibration will make Lambert shake. In slow increments, Lambert moves a little faster, a little deeper, until the head of his cock is popping in and out of Jaskier’s throat with each thrust. He seems to be content with that speed and rhythm, so Jaskier relaxes and lets him have it, groaning occasionally and squeezing Lambert’s hand with each push in.

It doesn’t take very long. “Jaskier, I – oh, _fuck,_ I’m going to – where – ”

Jaskier opens his eyes to take in the sight of his Witcher wrecked above him. In his periphery, past the tears, he can just see Aiden still; he’s not sure with the blurriness, but he thinks the other Witcher has a hand down his pants, now. Good.

Instead of pulling back to answer Lambert’s not-question, Jaskier just squeezes his hand and shifts forward, forcing Lambert’s cock deeper into his throat on the next thrust. It’s pushing his limit just a little, but it won’t be for long, Jaskier can tell; the muscle in Lambert’s thigh is jumping and he’s trembling, clearly on-edge.

“Oh, oh fuck, shit, _Jaskier._ ” Lambert squeezes his hand nearly hard enough to break something, certainly enough to bruise, and spills down Jaskier’s throat with a whimper.

He swallows what he can, but some still escapes out of the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin and splattering onto his knees. Lambert whines the whole way through his orgasm, hips rocking the tiniest bit, involuntary movement along the same rhythm his cock flexes in Jaskier’s mouth. Finally, when he’s done, Jaskier pulls back with a heaving breath, squeezing Lambert’s hand once more when the Witcher makes a concerned noise.

“Fine, love,” Jaskier pants. “Just fine.”

“Fuck, _come here_ ,” Lambert hisses, using his grip on his hand to yank Jaskier to his feet. He stumbles into Lambert’s chest with a laugh, and it’s quickly cut off with a fierce kiss. Lambert finally lets go of his hand to reach down and fumble with the laces of Jaskier’s pants, and Jaskier has to break the kiss to chuckle breathlessly, “Careful, darling, we seem to have an audience.”

Lambert freezes, then moves so fast Jaskier can’t quite parse it; when his brain catches up, he realizes Lambert has flipped them, so Jaskier is totally hidden behind his bulk. Jaskier bites back the very soft, wounded sound that crawls up his throat at the realization. He watches as Lambert’s nostrils flare, then he looks around.

“ _Aiden_?” he asks, clearly incredulous, and Jaskier snorts.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Aiden purrs, sounding much closer than before.

Lambert makes an odd sound, something between a growl and a whimper. Jaskier tips his head against the wall so he can see past his Witcher to where Aiden is now standing a bare three feet away from them.

“I – what are you doing here?” Lambert asks, finally.

“Same thing you’re doing, I suppose – though I clearly didn’t have my hopes set high enough,” Aiden grins. “I see you’re well, Jaskier.”

Jaskier laughs. “Indeed I am, Aiden,” he replies.

“Wait, you – how do you know each other?” Lambert looks back to Jaskier, eyes wide, and Jaskier can’t help but lean forward to kiss the little confused pout of his lip.

“Long story, darling,” Jaskier murmurs against the corner of his mouth. “And one I’ll tell you later, but I do have a competition to be getting to rather soon.”

Lambert jerks as if startled, and turns to kiss Jaskier again, deeper this time. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles when it breaks, tugging at the half-undone laces of Jaskier’s breeches.

Jaskier grins and bumps their noses together. “You’ll make it up to me later,” he says, half-invitation and half-order, and Lambert swallows audibly.

“Yeah, ’course.”

“You sure you want to perform, bard?” Aiden asks, as Lambert pulls back and Jaskier fumbles his clothes back into shape. Nothing to be done about the cum stain on his pants, unfortunately, but oh well. “You sound – well, exactly like you got throat-fucked.”

Jaskier laughs, and he can clearly hear the rasp in it. “Yes, I do,” he says. “I think it’ll enhance my performance, don’t you?”

Aiden hums, looking rather blatantly over Jaskier’s whole body, and then over Lambert’s too. Lambert fusses with his clothes, finally putting his cock away. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Jaskier slips past Lambert and pats Aiden on the chest. “Surely I’ll see you both in the crowd?”

Aiden smirks at him, then gives Lambert another slow once-over. “Of course, bard,” he says, and Jaskier can practically feel the confused, embarrassed arousal coming off of Lambert in waves. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” Jaskier gives a smirk of his own and then darts off, headed back toward inn housing the competitors so he can grab his lute. Just before he turns the corner into the bustling street, he catches the sounds of Aiden laughing and Lambert muttering something angrily. He finds he can’t do anything about the wide grin on his face.

* * *

The first person he runs into behind the temporary stage that’s been erected for the competition is, of course, Valdo.

Because Jaskier can only have so much luck in one day, and finding that knife plus Aiden showing up apparently exhausted it all.

“Julian,” Valdo sneers, and Jaskier carefully doesn’t wince. Gods, but he hates when people use his given name. Especially a sleezy mongrel like Valdo Marx.

“Valdo,” Jaskier greets back, entirely too chipper. “I’m surprised they let you back into the competition after that fiasco with Leo.”

Valdo frowns. “I had nothing to do with that,” he says primly. He goes to step past Jaskier, very intentionally too close so he shoves him, but stops before he makes it all the way. “Say, _Julian._ Something sounds rather, well, _off_ about your voice. Are you sure you’re fit to perform?”

Jaskier laughs. “I’d be more fit to perform half-dead than you will ever be,” he snaps.

Valdo makes a derisive, bitter noise. “You _reek_ of sex.”

“Mm,” Jaskier spins away, carelessly letting the top of his lute bash into Valdo’s face. “Suppose that would be because I’ve recently had sex, Valdo. It happens when you’re not a total cad.” And he walks off, looking for friendlier pastures in the younger bards. Behind him, Valdo makes a cut-off, frustrated noise, and Jaskier finds himself grinning once more.

* * *

Aiden knows if he gave Lambert the choice, they’d be at the very back of the crowd milling about the stage. Invisible to the human eye at that distance, probably – which is why Aiden just won’t let that stand.

“What’s the point if he can’t see us, Lambert?” he prods, using a well-placed jab to the other Witcher’s spine to keep him moving forward when he tries to falter and stop. “I promised him he’d see us in the crowd, after all.”

Lambert snorts. “Yeah, and since when are you a man of your word?” he retorts, unnecessarily snappish. Aiden knows it’s just because he feels caught, exposed by Aiden’s voyeurism. So he lets the tone slide – mostly; he does aim another jab to Lambert’s back, a little to the side this time, in a sensitive spot.

He makes a bitten-off noise, something like pain but not quite, and Aiden snickers. Right, he’d almost forgotten in their time apart – Lambert _likes_ pain. He wonders if Jaskier knows that, but then thinks of course he must; Aiden’s never seen Lambert as open and trusting with anyone as he just witnessed the Wolf with the bard. Not even with himself, though Lambert is certainly more relaxed around him _now_ than he was when they first met. It took a few bouts of what Aiden would affectionately call _hate fucking_ before Lambert had reached the point he stopped flashing a blade for every one of Aiden’s unexpected movements.

The other Witcher is far from _tamed_ , but Aiden thinks he’s done a decent job all the same. That bard, though, he’s managed an entirely different level of submissive from Lambert. It’s a fragile thing, Aiden can tell, and his first instinct is to prod at it, see how strong it really is.

But he’s not an idiot, and Jaskier will absolutely stab him. So he doesn’t do that, and instead, just keeps gently bullying Lambert clear until they’re dead center in the gathered crowd. It means Jaskier will be able to see them from his spot on the stage, and also has the added advantage of giving Aiden an excuse to stand close to Lambert.

Lambert, who is currently practically vibrating out of his skin. Aiden can’t quite bite back the chuckle in his voice when he leans forward to whisper, “Relax, wolf,” into his ear.

“Fuck off,” Lambert hisses, but his shoulders do lose some of their tension. Aiden will take it.

“Make me,” Aiden goads, and shifts just far enough to the side that Lambert’s elbow doesn’t catch him in the gut.

* * *

Lambert is starting to get shifty by the third performer. Aiden notices. Usually, he’d just let Lambert rile himself into a bad mood, but tonight doesn’t feel like the night for that. Not with the promise of celebrating – or commiserating – with Jaskier on the horizon.

So instead, he does a little antagonizing. Which sounds counter-productive, yes, but this a specific kind of provoking.

He lets the crowd jostle him forward just a little, so he presses up against Lambert, from shoulders to hips; Lambert grunts, almost sub-verbal, quiet enough Aiden knows he’s the only one to catch it.

“Tell me something,” Aiden murmurs, right into Lambert’s ear. He grins at the shiver Lambert almost can’t restrain.

“What?” Lambert hisses, and _oh_ , that voice – hard but soft-edged, a little breathy. That’s a voice Aiden knows well; it can mean a lot of things, but mostly, right now, it means his particular brand of provocation is almost definitely welcome.

“How, exactly, did the little bird end up in your bed?”

Lambert tenses, just for a moment, then relaxes back; it’s minute, but he’s pressing into Aiden’s body, likely with the same excuse Aiden might give. _Just no room with the crowd._ Aiden wants to wrap an arm around him, grip his hair and tip his head to the side to bite at the tendon in his throat – but he can’t. Not here.

Later, though, he thinks maybe he and Lambert should put on a little show for Jaskier. After all, Aiden got his own show earlier – surely, Jaskier deserves the same privilege. He’ll mention it to Lambert in a moment. Or maybe after the competition.

“Made me bleed,” Lambert murmurs quietly.

Well, _that’s_ just vague enough to send Aiden’s mind running in several different, but equally arousing, directions. “Oh?”

There’s a smirk in Lambert’s voice now, like he knows what he’s done. Probably does, the bastard. Aiden doesn’t bother stemming the grin that spreads across his face. “His first winter at Kaer Morhen,” Lambert explains, “I taught him to use a sword.”

“And he _beat_ you?” Aiden knows it’s impossible. Jaskier is feral, braver (or maybe stupider) than any other human Aiden has ever met, but – there’s no way he’d be good enough at sword fighting to best Lambert, even if Lambert taught him how.

Lambert shrugs one shoulder. “In a manner of speaking. Nicked my cheek with the blade.” He reaches up, clearly unconsciously, to touch his cheek. Aiden wonders if it scarred; not likely, but it would be quite delicious if it had. “I had told him _if you make me bleed._ ”

“If he could make you bleed?” Aiden asks. “What?”

Lambert snorts. “Mm, let me back up; when Jaskier and I met for the first time, I punched him in the face.”

Aiden can’t hold back the choked laugh that knocks out of him, and when Lambert continues, he can hear the grin in the other Witcher’s voice.

“Gave him a hell of a nosebleed, and when I told him to get the fuck out, he said that he wouldn’t take orders from a Witcher who made him bleed. So when I thought he’d gotten good enough with a sword, I told him I’d take orders from him if he could make me bleed.”

Aiden can’t ignore the way his cock twitches at that. From the soft sound Lambert makes, he felt it where they’re still pressed together; Aiden has to ball his fists at his side to stop himself from grabbing Lambert and dragging him away. He can wait until after Jaskier has performed. _Then_ he can find a dark corner to ravage Lambert in while they wait for the bard to return.

He desperately hopes that Jaskier’s performance is coming up soon. His patience is wearing a bit thin.

* * *

It’s taking a lot of Lambert’s patience and considerable willpower to remain in the middle of the crowd, practically pressed up against Aiden, and wait for Jaskier’s turn to perform.

He has to keep reminding himself that he came to this _for_ Jaskier, and that it’s only fair that he sees the bard perform – especially after basically leaving him hanging in that alley. That was technically Aiden’s fault, yes, but still. He keeps tonguing at the split in his lip, the tiny burst of copper flavor nearly the only thing that’s keeping him grounded.

Aiden, the absolute _asshole,_ is not helping. Lambert is sure the crowd cannot be moving enough to keep jostling the other Witcher into him, especially not hips-first – but it’s not as if he can call attention to it. So instead, he stands as still as he can without going rigid – Aiden would think something was wrong, and Jaskier would spot it from the stage and think the same, and that would not end well – and tries to ignore the way that having Aiden’s warmth pressed against him has his blood rushing oddly in his veins.

Fucking Cat has the weirdest effect on him. He hates it, but no, he actually doesn’t, because it makes every time they fuck a _hell_ of a rush.

Lambert thinks of the possibility of _later,_ how he might make the alley up to Jaskier, and realizes with a jolt that Aiden will likely be there, too. After all, Jaskier does _love_ Witchers, and not just the Wolves.

He very carefully adjusts the semi he’s sporting and holds firm when Aiden gets ‘jostled’ again.

Finally, after what seems like an entire eternity, Jaskier runs out onto stage. Lambert barely hears the announcement made about him; he’s too distracted by the bard himself. The setting sun behind the stage bathes him in gold, but the line of torches alone the front of the stage burn bright enough that he’s not just a silhouette. Instead, he’s surrounded by light, and looks almost inhuman up above, and Lambert finds himself _stupidly_ breathless.

And then Jaskier’s eyes find him in the crowd and he’s officially lost sight or sense of anything that isn’t that damn beautiful bard. Jaskier winks, and then he starts to play; soon enough, his singing joins, and the sound of his lilting voice all raspy hits Lambert somewhere a little too low to be his stomach.

He can’t quite bite back the groan that spills from him. Right next to his ear, Aiden chuckles.

“Fuck you,” he manages to grit out, but if Aiden replies, it’s lost to him. He can’t even really parse the words Jaskier is singing; the music seems familiar, likely something Lambert has heard, but he’s so distracted by that roughness to Jaskier’s usually smooth tenor. Roughness _he_ caused, that Jaskier willingly accepted because he wanted to – Lambert has to stamp down on that thought process immediately, or he’s going to be arrested for indecency.

What makes it so much worse, though, is that Jaskier _won’t look away._ He spends his entire performance looking straight at Lambert, no matter where he goes on the stage; Lambert’s sure there are people in the crowd looking at him, trying to figure out why one of the most famous bards on the Continent is focused on _him._

But he can’t even muster up the attention span to be embarrassed. Jaskier is filling his head, and Aiden, pressed to his back, is providing just enough sensation of safety that his brain has completely overturned. And his thoughts don’t right themselves when Jaskier finishes, no; because the bard, biting his lip while he bows out, fucking _winks_ at Lambert before he disappears back off the stage.

Luckily, apparently Aiden is alright with doing his thinking for him. Somehow, the other Witcher manages to drag them out of the crowd and away without pissing anyone off too badly; Lambert comes to, as it is, leaned against a brick half-wall somewhere far enough from the festivities that their noise is dulled even to his hearing.

He just barely gets the chance to see the wicked smirk on Aiden’s face before he’s being kissed within an inch of his life, and his brain goes down all over again. He puts very little effort into resurfacing.

* * *

Jaskier can’t find Aiden and Lambert in the crowd anymore when they all gather on the stage to announce the winner of the competition. He rolls his eyes; judging from how close Aiden was standing to Lambert, and the absolutely floored look on Lambert’s face, they’ve definitely found some hidden spot to fuck. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll catch them in the act.

Aiden got a show. Why shouldn’t Jaskier?

Jaskier returns his attention to the goings on of the competition just as the announcer begins winding the crowd up with a drawn out, “And the winner is….”

On stage, the atmosphere tenses, and Jaskier shimmies his shoulders to get rid of the off prickling at his back. The announcer gives a little overdramatic flourish and finally finishes, “Dandelion!”

There’s cheers from the crowd that mix with defeated groans of the bard around him, and Jaskier laughs out loud. He steps forward to give a bow, and the announcer reaches over to grab at him so they can take another bow at the same time. It goes on for a moment, but finally, the crowd disperses, satisfied to know the winner of this annual affair, and the announcer lets go of Jaskier’s wrist. Having won twice before, Jaskier knows the drill; he bypasses the rickety temporary stairs and just vaults off the side of the stage and jogs over to the little tent behind the stage. A wizened old woman by the name of Eliza already has a lovely little decorative bag prepared for him.

“Your prize,” she coughs out. Jaskier seizes her hand and presses a light kiss to her knuckles.

“Thank you, my lady,” he drawls, and she snorts.

“Of with you,” she shoos him with the hand he’s just kissed. “Bards, all the same, the lot of you. Foppish and flatterers.”

Jaskier snickers and, once he’s checked that he does in fact have the cash prize he’s won, leaves her be. He also sees they’ve given him a very nice bottle of wine, as well, which suits his plans just fine. Now all he has to do is find his wayward Witchers.

It’s easier than he thinks it’ll be. Mostly because they’re _barely_ hidden, the morons.

“Lambert, Aiden!” Jaskier whisper-shouts, trying to get their attention without grabbing the attention of anyone else. Luckily, they pull apart and turn to him; he steadfastly ignores the absolutely delectable sight of Lambert looking wrecked while Aiden smirks like the cat – _ha_ – who got the cream. “You’re not exactly being subtle.”

Aiden laughs. “A bard, lecturing Witchers about subtlety.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I won,” he says, pointedly, and that seems to kick Lambert out of whatever haze he’d descended into. He stands straight and rights himself as best he can, growling a little when Aiden gives a playful roll of his hips.

“Congratulations,” Lambert says finally, and Jaskier beams at him.

“Thank you,” he says, graciously and with a little tip of his head.

“Not shocking,” Aiden adds. He finally steps all the way back from Lambert, letting the other Witcher stand properly and actually fix his clothes. “You were the only tolerable musician performing.”

Jaskier tries not to visibly preen too much. “I’m not sure you listened to any of the performers aside from me,” he teases instead. “If you even listened to _me_ , that is.”

Aiden smirks and steps closer to Jaskier, bending just a little to whisper directly into his ear. “I listened,” he murmurs. “Hard to ignore when I know exactly what made your voice sound like sandpaper, bard.”

Jaskier hums in lieu of the moan that wants to crawl up his throat. He waits until he’s sure he won’t make an embarrassing noise to speak. “I’ve got a very nice room. And an even nicer bottle of wine – ” he holds up the bag with his winnings, “ – if you two are interested in _sharing_.”

Aiden’s chuckle is almost more vibration than sound, making Jaskier shiver. Even distracted by that, he doesn’t miss the way that Lambert lurches as if something has jabbed him in the gut at the word _sharing_.

“I certainly am,” Aiden purrs, and Jaskier grins, but doesn’t bother turning to look at him.

He wants to see Lambert, right now.

The other Witcher gulps audibly and makes a bitten-off sound, almost like a pleading whine but with no breath. “ _Please_ ,” he mumbles, and Jaskier’s grin widens.

“Follow me, then,” he says, and turns to head toward the inn.

* * *

Jaskier isn’t entirely sure how they make it back to the inn without getting accosted for indecency or other hangable offenses, but they do, and he’s glad of it. Lambert and Aiden scramble up the stairs – or, well, Lambert scrambles and Aiden _saunters_ , the bastard – while Jaskier stops off to ask the innkeeper for some glasses so they can drink their wine like civilized people.

The surly man gives him a long once-over, then glances up to where Lambert and Aiden have disappeared in the direction of Jaskier’s third-floor room. He reaches under his counter and supplies three sturdy earthenware tankards.

“If you and your Witchers break anything,” he says, spitting to the side, “you pay for it.”

“Aye-aye, you have my word.” Jaskier gives a salute, only slightly mocking, and gathers the tankards into his arms. He takes the rickety stairs two at a time and ignores the disbelieving grunt the innkeeper gives his back.

Lambert and Aiden are _not_ making out in the hallway of the inn, when Jaskier finally arrives to the third floor, but it’s clearly a near thing. Aiden’s gaze could light lesser men on fire, and Lambert looks almost ready to shake apart. Jaskier foists the tankards and his winnings onto Aiden and unlocks the door to his room; they stumble in almost as one, and Aiden drops the mugs and spoils onto the bed rather unceremoniously before turning around and using Lambert’s body to slam the door shut.

The kiss they share is deep and filthy, and Jaskier thinks he’s never seen anything quite as arousing as the way Aiden presses Lambert up against the flimsy door. Which is saying something, considering that he’s been fucking three Witchers rather regularly for years now.

Jaskier grabs the wine and the tankards and settles them on the little table in the room, then sits himself in the chair, content for a moment to just watch. Aiden barely breaks the vicious kiss between them to pull off Lambert’s jerkin and tunic, and by the time they have to break apart for air – fucking _Witchers_ – he’s got Lambert’s breeches nearly all the way unlaced, the waist slouching around his hips.

“I think you owe Jaskier something from earlier,” Aiden murmurs. He takes a step back, then another, until he hits the end of the bed and sprawls backward onto his elbows. Lambert whines, but stays where he is, eyes flickering between Aiden and Jaskier desperately. “Go on, then,” Aiden prods, and Lambert is across the room, kneeling at Jaskier’s feet, before Jaskier can even think add his own snark to the suggestion.

“Fuck, Lambert,” he mutters instead, easily slouching in the chair so the Witcher can unlace his pants and yank them down to his knees. Lambert wastes absolutely no time between getting Jaskier’s dick free and choking himself on it; Jaskier jolts with the sudden burst of sensation and grabs Lambert’s head, probably too hard.

Lambert doesn’t seem to have a complaint. He moans around his mouthful, making Jaskier jerk again, and then sets to giving Jaskier the sloppiest and most enthusiastic blowjob he’s ever received.

Jaskier can’t get a decent grip in the Witcher’s hair because it’s too short, so instead he drops his hand to the nape of Lambert’s neck. Squeezing there makes Lambert bob forward too fast, the sound and sensation of him choking around the head of Jaskier’s cock like a bolt of lightning up his spine. Digging his nails in, which he does on accident the first time – but definitely on purpose the subsequent times – makes Lambert _growl_ , a sensation that rocks Jaskier’s very foundations.

For a long, drawn out moment of absolutely undeterminable time, Jaskier just lets go; he tips his head back and closes his eyes and rocks his hips easily along with the clumsy, desperate rhythm Lambert has set, letting sounds and nonsense words pour out of him freely. It isn’t until he hears the sound of leather and buckles hitting the floor that he finally forces himself to look up, across the room to where Aiden is.

He’s standing, now, working himself out of the many belts he wears; his intense gaze is focused on Lambert, though, where the Witcher bobs his head in Jaskier’s lap. Jaskier feels a smirk spread across his face. When Aiden’s eyes flick up and catch sight of it, he rolls his eyes, but the speed at which he’s undressing nearly doubles.

Jaskier laughs, then groans, and nearly _screams_ when Lambert tips his head just right and Jaskier’s cock slides straight down his throat, until Lambert’s nose is smashed to his stomach. He _does_ scream when Lambert responds to the sudden change with a rumbling growl; he screams, his vision whites out, and then everything bursts into a riot of color as he comes.

When his vision clears and he has some measure of control over his limbs once more, Lambert is still kneeling at his feet, head pillowed on Jaskier’s thigh. Jaskier pets through his hair almost on automatic, a silent gesture of comfort.

“So fucking good to me,” he rasps out, and Lambert whines, pressing into the strokes on his scalp.

Aiden has stripped everything except his breeches, now, and he’s still staring at Lambert, occasionally travelling up to find Jaskier’s face, as well. The bulge in his pants isn’t just obvious, it’s godsdamned obscene, and Jaskier has to swallow a sudden rush of saliva.

“I have an idea,” Aiden murmurs, and Jaskier is immediately paying attention. Lambert, too, though he hardly moves; Jaskier can feel the way he goes tense. “I want to give Lambert a reward,” Aiden continues, and chuckles softly when Lambert gives another whine at that, “but I think he should earn it first.”

“Oh?” Jaskier asks, glancing down to find Lambert looking directly at him. He’s sidetracked for a moment by the need to kiss him, so he leans down and does just that. Lambert’s lips are clumsy against his own, but Jaskier doesn’t mind.

Aiden makes a low, approving noise. “I thought you and I might put on a show for him, Jaskier.”

Jaskier hums into the kiss with Lambert, leaving him with a gentle nip to the side of his lip that isn’t split. “What do you think, darling?”

Lambert whimpers, then, after a moment of working his jaw as if the words are stuck, manages to plead, “Fuck, please, anything you want.”

Jaskier glances up to find Aiden smirking down at them and can’t help but smirk back.

“But,” Aiden starts, and Jaskier can feel the way Lambert shudders under his palm. “There ought to be some rules, don’t you think, so Lambert can _earn_ his reward?”

“Watching us won’t be the reward?” Jaskier asks.

Aiden’s smirk turns sharp and wicked, and he shakes his head. “Hardly.”

“Do go on.” Jaskier uses a directing hand on Lambert’s shoulder to get him to shift up, then turn around so he’s facing Aiden, too, still on his knees. Jaskier wraps one arm around his chest and drapes the other over his shoulder, resting his chin on the opposite shoulder. Lambert melts into the contact, resting his own head back against Jaskier’s shoulder and slouching into the arm around his chest.

“I want him to watch us,” Aiden murmurs, voice low and near hypnotizing. “But I want him to sit still and make no noise while he does. No touching himself allowed, either.”

Jaskier chuckles, and smooths his hand down Lambert’s chest when he gives a mildly panicked whine. “What is it, love?”

Lambert sucks in a breath. “I’m not – I can’t…. Too hard,” he manages, and Aiden goes to prompt for more, but Jaskier holds up a hand. He recognizes this; Lambert will get the words out – it will just take a moment.

“Tell us,” he murmurs, softly commanding, into Lambert’s ear. An order and an encouragement all in one.

“Can’t stop myself from touching,” Lambert finally rasps.

Jaskier rewards his words with a soft, “Thank you,” and a sucking kiss to a soft spot at the base of his throat. He whimpers and lists backward, closer to Jaskier, until Jaskier is supporting all of his weight.

“Hm.” Aiden casts a glance around the room. “Can we bind you?”

Lambert jerks, almost hard enough to break Jaskier’s hold on him. For a moment, he’s quiet, and Jaskier gives Aiden a look he hopes communicates _tread carefully_ clearly, but it’s not needed.

“ _Yes,_ ” Lambert hisses. “I – the belts.” He lifts a shaky arm to point at the mass of belts that Aiden stripped from his person. Jaskier groans and bites that spot at the Witchers throat, making Lambert groan, too. Aiden turns and picks up some of the belts, then returns to stand in front of them.

“Jaskier,” he says. “I want Lambert where you’re sitting now.”

Jaskier hums an acknowledgement, petting over Lambert’s chest and slowly tilting him forward, until the Witcher grasps the idea and sits up of his own accord. Jaskier stands and slips out from behind him, then gets him into the chair with gentle, guiding touches. Lambert isn’t quite out of it, not like Jaskier’s seen him go under before, but it’s a near thing.

“So wonderful, Lambert,” Jaskier murmurs. “Beautiful, doing so well for us.”

Lambert makes a weak, adoring sound, and sort of collapses back into the chair, eyes hooded as he stares between Jaskier and Aiden in front of him. Aiden crouches down, holding up the belts, and Lambert blinks at him, almost sleepily, but nods.

Aiden nods, too, then glances to Jaskier. “Do you two have a word?” he asks.

Jaskier shakes his head. “If he says stop, I stop. Never gone into anything that might require something else.”

Another nod, and Aiden turns back to Lambert. “Okay?” he asks, and Lambert chew his lip but nods his agreement to that, as well. “Good. Hands on the chair arms.”

Lambert moves as if the words are a puppet master with his strings in hand. Aiden leans forward once his arms are in place and kisses him, a rather soft thing. Then he sets to securing Lambert’s wrists and arms to the chair with his belts. Jaskier watches, cock trying to twitch back to life entirely too soon.

When Aiden tightens the belts a final time, Lambert’s head drops back. He’s breathing a little slowly, but it’s not much of a worry; especially not when he lets out a filthy moan before looking back up at them.

Aiden grins down at him. “Good,” he murmurs. “Now, I want you quiet and still until I say. Alright?”

Lambert opens his mouth, but rethinks it. His jaw clicks shut and he nods. Aiden’s grin widens and he bends to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Lambert’s mouth.

“Very good,” he murmurs. “Now, Jaskier.”

Jaskier turns away from the sight of Lambert bound to the chair rather reluctantly. “Hm?”

Aiden reaches up and cups his jaw, thumb rubbing suggestively across his lips. “I want you on your knees.”

Jaskier groans. He opens his mouth to catch Aiden’s thumb with his teeth, barely even a nip, but Aiden’s eyes darken all the same. The Witcher presses his thumb against Jaskier’s teeth, forcing his mouth open, and Jaskier groans, sucking the digit into his mouth with a wet sound.

“Fuck,” Aiden hisses. He pulls his hand back, but it only goes as far as Jaskier’s shoulder, pushing him down. Jaskier follows the force, dropping easily to his knees, bracing his hands on Aiden’s thighs once he’s down. He glances to the side to see Lambert watching the proceedings avidly, wide-eyed and trembling slightly. There’s a tick in his jaw where he’s clearly gritting his teeth to keep quiet, and Jaskier is grinning when Aiden bends closer, grasping his chin to force his eyes back forward.

He finds Aiden has already loosened his trousers, so his cock is free between them, barely hidden by the bend of Aiden’s waist. He doesn’t bother to bite back his moan at the sight, and his mouth floods with saliva all over again. Aiden’s free hand presses hard against Jaskier’s over his thigh.

“Do you have any need for your singing in the next few days?” Aiden asks. Jaskier’s cock jerks and starts to fill again, just the right side of too soon.

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, “he answers.

Aiden grins. “Good. I’m going to fuck your throat, and I won’t be _nearly_ as nice about it as Lambert was earlier. Hm?”

Jaskier sucks in a breath involuntarily, ass lifting from his heels in an equally unintentional thrust of his hips. “ _Yes,_ ” he breathes out. Aiden’s grin widens, a flash of too-sharp teeth, and he squeezes Jaskier’s hand again.

“Let go if you need me to stop, hm? Like earlier.” He tips his head toward Lambert, and Jaskier nods. Message received; if he needs to stop, he’ll drop his hand from Aiden’s thigh.

“Good.” Aiden straightens again, and Jaskier shuffles forward on his knees, overeager. Aiden threads a hand through his hair and gets a decent grip on it, though he doesn’t do anything more than hold for now. Jaskier hopes that changes. “Go on.”

Jaskier casts one more sidelong glance at Lambert, still wide-eyed and shaking slightly, before doing as he’s told. He doesn’t tease like he did with Lambert; instead, he sucks the head of Aiden’s cock into his mouth and immediately starts to move, little bobs up and down, cheeks hollowed the entire time.

Aiden’s hips jerk a little forward and Jaskier rocks with the movement, sinking just a little further onto his cock as he does. He rolls his eyes up to find the Witcher looking not at him, but to the side at Lambert; Jaskier can’t turn his head to see, but his peripheral vision is fantastic when it’s not filled with tears. Lambert is still and silent, as he’s been told to be, but it’s clearly a struggle. If Jaskier listens, he can just hear the soft creaking of the chair as Lambert’s arms tense and pull against the belts.

Jaskier hums to feel the way Aiden’s cock twitches on his tongue, and settles back into a soft rhythm with his mouth. It’s not long before Aiden’s attention returns to him, after that. And not long, either, before Aiden is using the grip he has on Jaskier’s hair to direct him, moving him faster.

After a long, drawn out few moments of Aiden just slowly ramping up the speed at which Jaskier is bobbing on his cock, he starts thrusting his hips alongside, in counter to the rhythm of Jaskier’s head. It pushes his cock deeper and deeper, until it’s threatening Jaskier’s throat, and then it’s no longer a threat, it’s a _promise._

Jaskier’s eyes are watering and his cock his throbbing, and the subtle creaking sounds from the chair Lambert is bound to are no longer very subtle. Sucking in a breath through his nose on each upstroke, Jaskier tips his head, a new angle every few seconds to try and find the right one, until finally he does; Aiden thrusts forward and pops into his throat with a wet sound. Jaskier’s entire body spasms from the suddenness, but Aiden doesn’t stop, and Jaskier doesn’t drop his hand. In fact, he digs his fingers in to the muscle of Aiden’s thigh, hard enough it would bruise if Aiden weren’t a Witcher.

He forces his eyes open, vision blurred by tears and motion, and catches Aiden’s gaze. Molten gold focused directly on him, as if he’s the center of the universe when he and Lambert have the sun in their eyes; Jaskier whimpers, then moans, and Aiden’s head tips back violently, breaking eye contact as he thrusts just a little harder.

There will be a lot of tea and honey to make up for this, Jaskier knows. But that’s a problem for _future_ him. Right now, his main concern is making Aiden come down his throat. Judging from the way the rhythm of his hips is skipping, and the low rumble of a growl in his chest, he’s close. Jaskier pushes harder, moaning when it makes Aiden tug almost harshly at his hair. He can’t really be sure if it’s the moan or the rapid swallowing that pushes Aiden over, but one of them – or both – does the trick. The Witcher groans out a bastard of Jaskier’s name and curls around his head as he spills down Jaskier’s throat.

Entirely too much of it still ends up on Jaskier’s chin, but when Aiden collapses down to his knees and drags Jaskier into a brutal kiss, he doesn’t seem concerned about the mess. Jaskier whimpers, fingers cramping where he’s still holding awkwardly to Aiden’s thigh; the Witcher laughs against his mouth and reaches down to pry his hand away from the still-jumping muscle.

Lambert, next to them, shifts just slightly, and immediately their attention turns to him. Aiden grins, the wickedness of it only enhanced by the smear of his own come across his swollen lips. He surges up on his knees to kiss Lambert, too, and Jaskier has to scramble to sit down properly before he just falls straight over.

“Perfect,” Aiden murmurs when he finally pulls back from Lambert’s mouth. He trails kisses along Lambert’s chin, across his jaw, to his ear. “Absolutely perfect, Lambert.”

“You were wonderful for us, darling,” Jaskier croaks out in agreement.

Lambert makes a bitten off, wild noise, and he turns his head to bury his face against Aiden’s throat. Aiden lets him, making generally soothing noises as he unbuckles the belts from around Lambert’s arms.

“You’ve earned your reward,” Aiden says softly. “What would you like, Lambert?”

Lambert answers him, Jaskier can tell, but he can’t hear what the Witcher says. Luckily, the second Witcher in the room clearly can. An indulgent smile spreads across Aiden’s face slowly, like the rising sun, and he hums an affirmative noise.

“Of course,” he says, easily. “Lets get you onto the bed, hm?”

Jaskier struggles to stand, but luckily, it appears Aiden doesn’t need his help; he stands easily and lifts Lambert with him, turning and marching him the scant space to the bed. Once there, Aiden collapses back onto it and pulls Lambert up with him.

“Jaskier,” Aiden murmurs, and Jaskier manages to stumble his way over without any disaster. “On the bed, between my legs, please.”

Jaskier does as he’s told, and then Aiden is moving Lambert. No words are spoken, just guiding touches exchanged, until Lambert is straddling Aiden’s chest but facing Jaskier. Jaskier reaches up to cup Lambert’s cheek and is almost shocked by the sheer force with which Lambert nuzzles into his palm. His brain is still a little hazy from being throat-fucked, but he catches on quickly enough.

“You want me to hit you, darling?” he asks, and Lambert nods.

“Please,” he breathes. Up close, he looks even more desperate than Jaskier had guessed. It’s impossible to resist leaning forward to kiss him, so Jaskier doesn’t even try. The kiss itself is surprisingly gentle, and Jaskier’s lips tingle with an odd combination of oversensitivity and numbness.

Lambert is the one to break it with a jerk of his head and a wounded noise. For a split second, Jaskier doesn’t know what’s going on, and then he rises a little on his knees and looks over Lambert’s shoulder. Aiden is clearly fulfilling his part of what Lambert wanted; all Jaskier can see of him is his hair, and from the way Lambert is trembling, Jaskier knows _exactly_ where the other Witcher’s tongue is right now.

He shudders and his cock throbs, but it’s easy enough to ignore for now. He shifts forward, until Aiden is forced to raise his legs a little, thighs resting on Jaskier’s knees. It’s a provocative position, but Jaskier has other things to focus on – namely, the fact that this close, he can grasp Lambert’s cock with one hand and hit him with the other.

Carefully, he thumbs over the rise of Lambert’s cheekbone, until the Witcher turns those molten gold eyes on him.

“Ready?” Jaskier asks, and Lambert seems incapable of using his words, but he nods vigorously and pants, hips rolling shamelessly between Jaskier’s fist and Aiden’s face. Jaskier figures he can be let off the hook with his words for now; after all, it has been a very long, intense day for him.

For all of them, actually, but especially Lambert.

The first strike is the softest, always; it lets him judge what Lambert wants the best. If he gasps and jerks away, he needs it softer (whether he _wants_ it that way or not); if he presses into Jaskier’s palm and moans, he needs it harder. Tonight, it appears, is one for the harder hits. Jaskier takes a moment to pet over the slight sting his palm has already left, before pulling back and swinging again.

Lambert lets lose the sweetest little sound, and Jaskier feels the way his dick leaks into his palm.

“Good,” Jaskier murmurs. “So good, Lambert, darling, look at you, beautiful.”

Lambert huffs and presses his cheek into Jaskier’s hand, eyes hazy but still more-or-less focused on Jaskier. Jaskier chuckles and slaps him again, and then again, and again. Each time Lambert’s noises get higher pitched, more broken, and Jaskier knows it’s not just because of _him_. By now, Aiden’s gotten sloppy, and the wet sounds of him eating Lambert out are so far past obscene that Jaskier’s sure he’ll never be truly clean again.

Not that he minds one fucking bit.

Eventually, Jaskier tries to gentle his hits a little bit, but Lambert makes a frantic sound and breathes out something almost like a sob. His eyes, which has fallen closed sometime around the fifth? sixth? slap, fly open, and Jaskier can see they’re filled with tears.

Lambert is _crying,_ or as close as he can truly get, and Jaskier feels something like fear strike his stomach.

“Lambert, are – ” is all he can get out, though, before Lambert is answering the question he can clearly see in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Fine,” he sobs, “good, good, please, _harder,_ just a little, Jaskier, _please._ ”

“Lambert,” Jaskier murmurs, and the Witcher pushes his face into Jaskier’s palm at the same time he reaches down to tighten Jaskier’s grip around his cock.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, and Jaskier’s helpless. He can hardly say no to a tone like that, especially not with the tears in Lambert’s eyes.

“Okay,” he agrees, stroking Lambert’s cock a little faster and a little tighter. “Okay.”

He slaps Lambert again, just as hard as before, and Lambert really sobs, but his eyes are open and he’s not looking away from Jaskier. Chewing his lip, Jaskier strikes again, and then, after a small pause, again; again, again, _again._

Lambert makes a breathless sound, some sort of cross between a sob and scream, and comes into Jaskier’s palm, reaching up to hold Jaskier’s other hand against his warming face. Jaskier holds his breath, sure that if he breathes he’ll miss some part of this, watching Lambert cling to him and fall to absolute pieces on top of Aiden. For a long moment, the only things Jaskier is truly aware of are the sounds of Lambert sob-moaning and Aiden’s tongue against his ass, the feeling of hot slick on his palm, and the five points of Lambert’s fingers digging into his arm, sure to become bruises by morning.

Finally, Jaskier can take no more of just _watching_ and has to kiss him; it’s a mess of a kiss, no coordination and mostly just spit and tongues, but Lambert whimpers against his mouth and presses closer and that’s all the confirmation Jaskier will ever need. He’s not sure when Aiden finally comes back up for air, but when Jaskier is forced to breathe between kisses, he finds that somehow Aiden has slithered out from under Lambert and is sitting up in the bed, twisted oddly to fit around Jaskier’s lap and Lambert’s back both.

It’s easy, then, and takes exactly no thought for Jaskier to turn and kiss him, too. Aiden accepts the sloppy disaster of a kiss with grace. When _that_ kiss breaks, Jaskier finally feels as if his brain has returned.

Lambert is looking at them like he’s terrified they might disappear when he blinks. Jaskier huffs and shuffles back a little just so he can yank Lambert between him and Aiden. They go crashing to the bed sideways, legs in a horrible, uncomfortable tangle, but they land more-or-less the right way around on the mattress, so Jaskier is calling it a win. He props himself up on one elbow to lean over Lambert, pressing soft kisses along his hairline and ear.

“Sleep?” he asks, and Lambert makes a weak, agreeable sound, arm flailing a bit when he reaches back to grab at Jaskier’s ass and pull him close.

Aiden laughs softly and nods. “Yes,” he agrees. “Sleep.”

“Sleep,” Lambert finally manages to mumble, and Jaskier laughs, too, as he relaxes into the odd, too-tight hold Lambert has on him and lets darkness creep in around the edges. Just before he loses consciousness entirely, he catches sight of the unopened wine on the table and laughs again.

He didn’t even have to use the wine. Go figure.

Sleep takes him immediately afterward.

**Author's Note:**

> ALRIIIIIGHT so. real talk. this series is growing a plot.
> 
> and, if you couldn't guess, it's kate's fault. 
> 
> (i love her so much.)
> 
> next up! yen, and then coen, and after that i have a lot of ideas and no clues on what order they're gonna go in. at some point i will be putting together a proper timeline/explanation of events for these fics and posting it on my tumblr (rogueandramblingdreams is the writing - violaceum-vitellina-viridis is the regular, timeline will go up on the writing blog), but i'll link it to either the yen fic or the coen fic when they get done and posted.


End file.
